The Best Is Yet To Be
by rankamateur
Summary: Although retired from The Agency, Lee and Amanda remain in the middle of international intrigue. Set in 2001 - so it must be AU too....


The Best Is Yet To Be  
  
By rankamateur  
  
Time: Late January, 2001 (because that's when I first started writing it). Has to be AU.  
  
Although retired from The Agency, Lee and Amanda remain in the middle of international intrigue.  
  
Scarecrow and Mrs. King belong to Warner Bros and Shoot The Moon Enterprises, Ltd.  
  
This story contains references to:   
The First Timeby Brad Buckner and Eugenie Ross-Leming  
Filming Raulby Rudolph Borchert  
Murder Between Friendsby Mark Lisson and Bill Froehlich  
J. Edgar's Ghostby David Brown  
Fast Food For Thoughtby Robert Gilmer  
Night Crawlerby George Geiger   
  
-----------------------  
  
Lee opened one eye. The room was getting light but it wasn't too bright. He realized it hadn't been the light that had awakened him, but the fact that his arm was cold. He quickly moved it under the covers. After all these years Amanda still liked to sleep with the window open "...just about this much....". '....after all these years...', he mused. It was going on fourteen years since their secret wedding and over thirteen since they had renewed their vows in front of family and friends, a wonderful, joyous occasion for all concerned.   
The reasons for a secret marriage had seemed good and sufficient at the time, but the arrangement soon became awkward and burdensome. Then, when they realized that Amanda was pregnant, with twins no less, it was impossible to maintain the secret.   
Amanda had quit the Agency almost at once. There were many difficult moments during her pregnancy but she had faced them, as she did all the difficult moments in her life, with courage and good humor. Those were just two of the traits which Lee admired so much in his wife.  
  
The twins were Jennifer Amanda, named for the two woman Lee loved most in the whole world, and William Matthew, Matthew for his father of course, and William for his boss, mentor and friend Billy Melrose. Lee and Amanda were glad they had put the 'William' first...Billy had been so happy and proud. 'He was a great godfather,' Lee thought. 'And he would have done his best to look out for the kids if anything had happened to me.' But it was Billy who was gone, almost five years now. He had simply keeled over at his desk one day. Heart attack, they said.  
  
Lee had moved to a job in administration soon after Amanda has resigned. He was reluctant to give up the challenge and excitement of being a field agent, but considered the move to be in the best interest of the family, of his family. The new job paid more and Amanda wouldn't have to worry about him working in the field, without her there to back him up. All in all he had convinced himself that this was the right thing to do.  
  
Lee's attitude toward his impending fatherhood had ranged from shear joy to stark terror. In the end, he followed his wife's lead and his mother-in-law's advice and tried to adopt the casual, what's-the-big-deal-they're-only-babies attitude of his stepsons and everything worked out pretty well. They got through the teething, the first words and first steps, the first day at school, the first day at dance class and the first time being struck out three times in one Little League game. And here they were.   
'The kids will be thirteen their next birthday,' he thought, 'almost teen-agers. Well, how much worse can that be than the terrible twos?' Maybe he didn't want to know the answer to that question.  
  
Amanda's mother had always been there to help. Dotty had remarried but lived close by. She was still available if her Stetson grandchildren needed some adult supervision.  
He thought about his stepsons, Philip and Jamie. Both had good jobs, were married and Philip had three children of his own. 'Incredible.'   
  
Amanda stirred beside him and slowly opened her eyes, those wonderful dark brown eyes that Lee loved so much. He leaned over and planted a very wet, very loud, smacky kiss right between her eyes. "I never realized how terrific it could be, waking up with a grandmother."  
  
"Wha...what?" Amanda looked at her husband, sleepily, trying to figure out what brought on such a statement, or compliment. After a long moment she replied, "And I never thought about waking up with such a sexy grandfather either. What time is it?" she asked, stretching and yawning.  
  
"It's almost seven," Lee answered. "And I have to be on the shuttle to New York at nine AM. I hope this guy's information is worth the trip."  
  
------------------  
  
Lee had stayed in administration with the Agency until about six years ago. The boredom had finally proved to be too much. He told Amanda his plans for going out on his own, starting a security company. His experience and expertise seemed to make this a logical choice. Over time, he had picked up many of Byron Jordan's old customers. Before his untimely death, Jordan had been the most successful and respected security man in DC. Now that position was filled by Lee and his company, Stetson Security, Inc. He still had plenty of contacts in many government agencies, friends in high and low places. He was able to work for himself, but remain close to the intelligence community. He was also well placed to do quiet, unofficial investigating in circumstances where The Agency, CIA or any other government involvement could be - well - awkward.  
Amanda had, of course, supported him in his decision to go out on his own. In fact, after Jenny and Billy were in school, she had come out of retirement, and assisted him in both the official and unofficial aspects of the business.  
  
The case he was working on now was just the sort of thing Lee had envisioned when he left The Agency; independent contractor work. Ephraim Beamon, who had gradually climbed the ladder of success over the years and was now second only to Francine Desmond in the chain of command, had come to Lee with the offer of an interesting assignment.  
"We need some information on a man, a diplomat who is posted to the Embassy of a friendly government. Now, we got a tip, some information, which led us to do some checking. We discovered that this man has some interesting antecedents. His maternal grandmother is a cousin of Saddam Hussein, not just a cousin - a kissin' cousin, at least in the platonic sense. They get along very well and may possibly share an agenda, at least where the U.S. is concerned. The Agency has to be very circumspect in this...we don't want to get caught sniffing around this guy, at least not until we have something solid to take to the powers that be."  
  
"What does any of this have to do with our National Security?" Lee asked. "If the man is not an American, what harm can he do to the U.S.?"  
  
"Well, this tip we received, ahh, it seems this man, his name is Rochard by the way, Guy Rochard, has an interesting hobby...bedding the wife of the President of the United States!"  
  
"WHAT?"  
  
"Yes, you heard correctly. The tip was anonymous but we think it came from one of her Secret Service guards. Anyway, we were told when and where to be in order to get some pretty interesting pictures, the President's wife caught in flagrante delicto, as it were. It seems one of the Presidents P.A.C.'s keeps a suite for V.I.P.'s at the Potomac Plaza Hotel. Rochard leased the adjoining suite and that's where they have their little trysts. Now, we want to keep our distance and have you follow up and see what you can come up with as far as his intentions are concerned. Does Mr. Rochard really have a *thing* for the First Lady or is there something more sinister going on here. Either way, the political consequences could be scary, very scary."  
  
-------------  
  
That conversation had taken place several days ago. Now Lee was on his way to New York to talk with a man, a mid-level functionary at the United Nations, who had been in DC just recently for one of those Embassy parties. He had regaled one of Lee's contacts with a story about a Frenchman and a lady, a very highly placed American lady.....  
  
After settling into his hotel room, Lee picked up the phone and dialed the number for the United Nations switchboard, and gave the operator the extension number for Mark Reynolds.  
  
"Good morning, Mark Reynolds speaking."  
  
"Good morning, Mr. Reynolds. This is Lee Stetson. We've never met but we do have a mutual friend, Bart Cummings. He suggested I look you up next time I was in New York City and here I am, in town for a day or two."  
  
"Well, Mr. Stetson," Reynolds sounded a bit nervous. "I'm rather busy. Actually, I'll be tied up with meetings for the next, ahh, the next week."  
  
"Look Reynolds," Lee said, deliberately letting a little bit of anger come through in his tone of voice. "Bart told me all about your conversation at that party. We need to talk. Or would you rather talk to the Secret Service?" Lee was bluffing of course, but Reynolds bought it.  
  
"All right, I'll meet you for lunch today, one o'clock at the Four Seasons. Do you know where that is?"  
  
"Yes I do. I'll see you then."  
  
------------  
  
Mark Reynolds was one of those unobtrusive, unimportant little people - always on the fringes of the action. He made himself seem important by picking up little tid-bits about the rich and sometimes famous people with whom he came in peripheral contact, due to the nature of his job.  
He told Lee how President Harlan Stone and his wife, Annalisa, had attended a dinner sponsored by the U.S. delegation to the UN. Among the guests was a certain French diplomat, who was posted in Washington, but who had flown to New York for this particular event. Guy Rochard was the man's name. He was single, attractive and well versed in the intricacies of diplomacy. And he was French, very French. Mrs. Stone had been left alone most of the evening, since her husband was busy being the consummate politician; and Rochard had stepped in and been very attentive.   
"He really put the moves on her," Reynolds continued his narration. "She was interested. Anybody could tell that. They met again, the very next night, at a party given by the French Ambassador. I'm told by a friend in DC that they continued the liaison there. Apparently she told friends that she was bored and tired of being a political wife, ignored except when she was needed at a party or fund raiser. Not very politic for a politician's wife." Reynolds raised his glass, finished his wine and looked questioningly at the man seated opposite him.  
  
"Well, Mr. Reynolds, that's a very interesting story."  
  
"It's all true. I don't know what concern it is of yours and I have a feeling I don't want to know. May I leave now?"  
  
"Yes, and thanks for coming." Lee lifted his glass and smiled as Reynolds rose from the table, grimaced and walked towards the exit.  
  
-----------------------  
  
Lee wanted to get home as soon as possible but, as long as he was in New York, there was one little side trip he thought he should make - Tiffany's.  
He caught a shuttle back to DC that night. He got in late and wanted nothing more than a hot shower and to cuddle up with his wife. He promised to tell her everything he had learned - in the morning.  
  
A thundering sound began at the top of the stairs and continued until the twins arrived in the kitchen, jackets and backpacks in hand.   
Lee smiled indulgently at his offspring. Sometimes he couldn't believe how fortunate he was. He had Amanda and these two wonderful, very lively expressions of their love.  
  
Jenny was pretty much a carbon copy of her mother, including Amanda's good humor and quick wit, except she had her father's dimples.   
  
Billy had his father's coloring, lighter brown hair, hazel eyes. And he had his dad's devastating smile, dimples and all. "Billy is for little kids," he had announced many times. He preferred to be called Bill, in keeping with the dignity of his age, although he realized that he would probably be called Billy by his parents forever - because of his godfather. Billy Melrose was '....a good guy. I still miss him,' Bill had thought on many occasions.  
  
"Morning mom; morning dad," Bill said as he opened the fridge and took out the family size container of milk.  
  
"Morning mom and dad," Jenny added her greeting as she went to the cupboard and retrieved two glasses.  
  
Bill poured milk for each of them and put the container away. They drank their milk, set their glasses on the counter and headed for the door.  
  
"Morning, morning. Hey, where do you think you're going without breakfast? You know it's......"  
  
"The most important meal of the *day*," the twins said, almost in unison.  
  
"Mom, we're gonna be late. I've got one of dad's donuts." Bill held it up for his mother to see.  
  
"And I'm tryin' to lose weight," Jenny said, somewhat dramatically.  
  
"Bye you two," Lee gave a half-hearted little wave.  
  
"You do *not* need to lose weight young lady...," Amanda started but soon found herself talking to the empty space which, a microsecond ago, had contained her youngest children. "I wonder if she is skipping lunch too? And why does she think she has to lose weight?" Amanda asked more or less rhetorically.  
  
"She wants to look like her mother," Lee grinned, putting his arms around her waist and nuzzling her neck. I don't think you've gained an ounce in all the years we've been married."  
  
"She does look like me. And yes I have."  
  
"Have what?" Lee asked absently, as he moved away from Amanda and towards the coffee pot.  
  
"Gained an ounce, several ounces, in fact. You're thinking about this case, aren't you? You said last night you'd fill me in this morning. So, what have you got?"  
  
After Lee finished bringing her up to date, Amanda observed that she didn't think Annalisa Stone seemed like the type who would have a love affair.  
  
Lee reminded her that she once told him you couldn't tell just by looking at a person, who would be the type to do something in a particular set of circumstances.  
  
"I did?"  
  
"Yes, you did. It was back when we were trying to find Raul and Scotty and recover the Malvern Report. As a matter of fact, when I said you weren't the type to have a clandestine love affair - you were rather testy about my innocent little remark."  
  
"I was not testy."  
  
"Were too."  
  
"Was not."  
  
--------------------------------------  
  
Lee's secretary buzzed him on the intercom.   
  
"Yes."  
  
"There's a man on the line, says his name is Yusef."  
  
"No last name?"  
  
"He said to ask you if A - T - A - C - means anything to you."  
  
"Put him through! So, Yusef El Kebir, how are things in Saudi Arabia? What have you been doing with yourself?"  
  
Yusef filled Lee in briefly. He had been out of intelligence for several years, but still had contacts. He had come into possession of some rather disturbing information and he wanted to see Lee and discuss it with him as soon as possible.   
"I will be leaving Washington the day after tomorrow. Would you and your lovely wife be able to join me for dinner tonight? We could meet at Le Trianon. Do you know where it is?"  
  
"Yes. I haven't been there in years, but Amanda and I would be happy to meet you there. How's eight o'clock?"  
  
"Excellent, my friend. I'll see you then."  
  
Promptly at eight o'clock, Lee and Amanda entered the restaurant. The maitre d' showed them to a table where Yusef was waiting. Rising, he shook hands with Lee and then took Amanda's hand in his, kissing it lightly.  
  
"Mrs. Stetson, you are as beautiful as I remember."  
  
"Thank you," Amanda responded, blushing at the compliment.  
  
After a wonderful dinner of coq au vin, wild rice and chilled asparagus tips, topped off by a bottle of an excellent Chenin Blanc, Yusef told them that several of his old contacts have given him some information - rumors actually, concerning Iraqi intelligence and an attempt on the President of the United States.   
"The intermediary in this is said to be a French diplomat, codename Marat, and the method of attack is some kind of explosive plus something even more deadly, contained in a piece of artwork."  
  
"What, a painting, a piece of sculpture?" Lee asked.  
  
"It doesn't have to be a painting or sculpture - nothing large - just big enough to hold a little plastique and some biological or chemical agent."  
  
"It sounds like a lethal combination, " Lee winced.  
  
"It's *meant* to be lethal," Yusef replied.  
  
"Oh my gosh."  
  
---------------  
  
The next morning Lee called Beaman and arranged to meet him and fill him in on what he had learned from Reynolds and Josef. It was decided that Lee would have one of his assistants follow Rochard.  
  
----------  
  
Guy Rochard was a man of medium height and build, with dark hair and very dark eyes, fringed with long, dark lashes. He considered himself a ladies man and had an impressive string of very beautiful and, in some cases, very married women listed in his address book.  
He was the son of a wealthy French family and, after his parents had been killed in a plane crash when he was just thirteen, his grandmother Fatima had seen to it that he was educated at the best schools and moved in the best circles - both in Europe and the Middle East. He was equally at home in Paris, London, Washington - Riyadh, Jeddah or Baghdad, where he had been introduced to his distant cousin - the Maximum Leader of Iraq. Because of his grandmother's influence, he was well aware of the plight of the common people of the mid-east and he had resolved at an early age to do what he could to help them and to right what he perceived as the wrongs committed by the West. With his background and wealth, his personality and charm, he was a perfect candidate for the diplomatic service. When it was learned that he was to be posted to Washington DC, he had been contacted by a man in Iraqi Intelligence. He was in a position to be of great value and service, the man told him. Little did either of them know at that time how valuable Guy would become.  
Now he had a contact - a conquest - that brought him to the very doors of the Oval Office.   
  
------------------   
  
This morning, Rochard had received a message at a pre-arranged drop sight, that Ali Amal, his contact in Iraqi Intelligence, wanted to meet with him. He was sitting on a bench in a small, out of the way Washington park, waiting and freezing. He finally spotted Amal coming toward him. The Iraqi sat on the bench and pulled out a newspaper, pretending to read.  
"Well, according to our sources, it seems the newly elected U.S. President wants to start his administration off with a "bang" - something to show the American public how tough he is, especially on terrorists. So, he is making plans for some kind of intervention in Iraq because of alleged terrorist training camps. We would like to return, or should I say pre-empt, the favor, by showing the world that even an American President is not safe from our righteous wrath. We have a little present for you to give your new lady friend. She must take it into the White House, indeed, into the bedroom she shares with her husband."  
Amal then produced what looked like a Faberge Egg.   
  
"It's beautiful, " Rochard said, as he turned the object in his hands.  
  
"It is beautiful, and deadly. It is actually a sophisticated explosive device that contains nerve gas. It will kill anyone in the room where it detonates as well as anyone else who comes in contact with the gas."   
  
-------------  
  
Guy was somewhat sad. This would be his last meeting with Annalisa. She was a pretty little thing. He really did care for her - to some extent.  
  
Annalisa was nervous and upset. She had been told by one of his aides that her husband was aware of some kind of relationship with Rochard and he was not happy with the idea that his wife was seeing another man. After listening to her story, Guy decided he could turn this to his advantage.   
He had a gift for her.  
It didn't take much to convince Annalisa to tell her husband that her relationship with Rochard was based solely on his connections in the art world and his ability to obtain, legitimately, this fabulous Faberge Egg, previously unknown and uncatalogued, which had just surfaced in France and which would make a wonderful addition to the President and First Lady's art collection.  
  
"Don't you see my darling, this is the perfect explanation. Your husband is an avid collector of beautiful things, is he not? After all, he married you didn't he. Promise me that you will keep the egg in your bedroom, the one you share with her husband. That will be our little secret - our little joke."  
  
She laughed softly. "Yes, it would be a good joke on him - to have a momento of our love right next to his bed."  
  
"So, you will take it and go home now? After what you have said, I'm afraid we will have to be very discreet, not see each other for a while. At least not until I can find another *art treasure*."  
  
"I'll miss you so much."  
  
"And I will miss you my darling - so very much."  
  
They kissed goodbye. A long lingering kiss. Rochard enjoyed it immensely, knowing it would be the last.  
  
As soon as she was out the door, Rochard retrieved his suitcases from the closet and left the room.  
He was unaware that his departure was noted by a fair-haired young man in a gray overcoat. One Mike Thomas, an employee of Stetson Security.   
Mike hailed a cab and and said the words the cabby had longed to hear for his entire driving career - "follow that car". Well, actually, it was *follow that cab*, the one Rochard was riding in, but it was close enough. When they arrived at Dulles International, Rochard's cab stopped in front of the Air France terminal. Mike paid the cabby, who grinned broadly, and headed for the closest bank of telephones he could find.  
  
"Mr. Stetson, it's Mike Thomas. This Rochard character is at Dulles. Looks like he's flying Air France."  
  
"Thanks Mike. Good work. Head back to the office."  
  
-----------  
  
Lee dialed Beamon's cell phone number.  
  
"Ephraim, it's Lee. Rochard is at Dulles now, apparently going out on the next Air France flight. Whatever the "art work" is, he must have given it to Mrs. Stone and he's leaving the country before the fireworks start."  
  
"Great. And we can't even arrest him."  
  
"Nope," Lee agreed. "At this point, we have nothing to charge him with, even if he *didn't* have diplomatic immunity."  
  
"Well, I think I'll contact a friend at the Surete'. The French authorities can keep an eye on him. Maybe we can get them to pick him up on conspiracy charges - if the worst happens."  
  
"We've got to talk to the First Lady *now*."  
  
"Yeah, are you volunteering, Stetson?"  
  
"No, but I think I know who should talk to her - Amanda. The thing is - how do we get an appointment with the President's wife at this time of night and on this short notice?"  
  
"That might not be a problem," Beamon said thoughtfully. "You know, I seem to remember that Amanda and Mrs Stone have an old friend in common."  
  
"Oh yeah? Who?"  
  
"Dr. Smyth."  
  
"You're kidding."  
  
"No, even though he's retired he still likes to *help out* The Agency. Anyway, Annalisa is a Chase, old Maryland money. Smith has known her since she was a little girl."  
  
"Great." Lee responded. " Call him."  
  
------------  
  
Lee knew that Amanda was the perfect person for this situation. Another one of her bits of wisdom was something about - when you're talking about love, you have to be patient. The President's wife may or may not be in love with this Frenchman, but it had to be a delicate situation. The kind that required his wife's gentleness and patience.  
  
-------------  
  
Amanda was ushered into the private quarters of the First Family at ten o'clock that evening. Annalisa Stone entered the room and smiled at her unexpected guest.  
The First Lady was in her mid-thirties, medium height, perfect figure, blond hair and blue eyes; she reminded Amanda very much of Francine Desmond, when they had first met at The Agency.  
  
"Good evening Mrs. Stetson. What brings you here at this time of night? Austin Smyth said it was urgent but other than that... Well, he was very mysterious."  
  
"It was good of you to see me on such short notice and please, call me Amanda."  
  
"Of course, if you will call me Annalisa. Shall we sit down?"  
  
"Thank you. Annalisa - this is difficult - but it *is* true that you met with Guy Rochard this afternoon? I think, I believe he gave you something, perhaps a valuable piece of sculpture or......"  
  
"How did you know?"  
  
"Well, as a very good friend of mine said to me once, years ago, *we have our ways*. The thing is, the object, whatever it is, probably is dangerous. I don't know how to tell you this, I mean there is no easy way, but this Mr. Rochard is not what he seems to be. I have no doubt that he was attracted to you, very attracted. You are a beautiful young woman, but he is - an agent of a foreign power. We have every reason to think that whatever he gave you is probably an explosive device."  
  
"What? You can't be serious. I - I don't believe it!"  
  
"I know it's difficult. It must seem like a bad dream or something but, Rochard has left the country. He headed for the airport as soon as you left the Potomac Plaza. Did he tell you he was leaving?"  
  
"No. He just said that we probably shouldn't see each other for a while. I told him my husband was aware of our ah, our friendship."  
  
"Would you do me a favor? Would you let one of my old friends from The Agency take a look at whatever it was he gave you?"  
  
"All right. I'll get it."  
  
An hour later the "Egg" had been dismantled and disarmed. The chemical agent had been neutralized. The danger was over.  
  
"Annalisa," Amanda began - oh, this was hard - telling her that her lover had tried to kill her husband and, in the process, she would no doubt have been killed too. "The Egg was a fake. It contained an explosive and a chemical - a type of nerve gas - that would have been fatal to anyone in the room. It was on a timer, set to go off at two o'clock this morning. I'm so sorry." She laid her hand on Annalisa's shoulder, patting it gently.  
  
"Oh, Amanda, how could he do this to me?" With that, she rushed out of the room.   
  
Amanda found a scrap of paper and wrote her phone numbers, at home and at the office, with a short note telling Annalisa to please call her if there was any way she could be of help.   
  
---------------  
  
It had been a long and difficult two weeks. At the end there had been a lot of report writing, debriefings and explanations. The President and his wife seemed to be resolving their differences. He had not pressed her for details of her relationship with Rochard. Maybe he would try and make time for his wife from now on. He really did seem to care for her. And she was more than just a political asset. At least that was Amanda's feeling after a long talk with Annalisa. She was happy for them and certainly wished them well.  
  
----------------------  
  
With all the excitement in wrapping up the Rochard case, Amanda thought Lee might have forgotten their anniversary, the official one - February 13th - today. But, arriving home, exhausted and looking forward to a quiet evening with her husband - hoping he *hadn't* forgot - she saw on the dining room table a huge bouquet of roses, a small, elegantly wrapped box from Tiffany's and a card. One of those big, fancy, really expensive cards with a beautiful, sentimental verse - to which Lee had added Browning's lines.....   
  
Come, grow old with me   
The best is yet to be  
  
Amanda reached into her purse for a tissue to wipe away the tears that were starting to trickle down her cheeks.  
Hearing a noise, she turned and saw Lee standing in the doorway, smiling tentatively at first and then, when he saw the look on her face, quite broadly.  
  
She stood there for just a moment and then opened her arms. "Oh, sweetheart.....I have every intention of growing old with you."  
  
The End 


End file.
